Brinna's payment rail struck its wooden stop three times, gave one close knock, then struck three more.
The ground share under her collar turned cold against her chest. The second share slid from Griswald's open wax fold and stopped beside the bent receipt needle.
Varo lifted both breath bells from the sorting table.
"The east service line carried that signal here."
"The line stayed open because Griswald paid us to preserve his answer."
"He paid you, while my floor still drops cups into the eastern wall."
The payment rail moved again. A roll of packing paper pushed beneath its brass guide, carrying enough black wax to pay twelve ordinary shifts. Griswald's old crown appeared at the top. One long cut and six shorter marks crossed the bottom.
Brinna expected a capture order for the field captain whose signal had reached the loft.
